I Can’t Write You a Love Poem

July 21, 2009

Dedicated to You.

I can’t write you a love poem, I don’t know how to wrap my lines and verses into pretty pink bows and ribbons, talking about how my heart soars every time I see you; 

Or how my words seem to form a concrete brick in the back of my throat whenever I try to tell my friends about you

 I’m not sure how to describe the way your touch disrupts my thought patterns when you make you hand cause those severe shocks inside my soul;

Or how apprehension, coupled with this jaded, tainted persona makes it hard for me to believe you; whenever you do something for me and swear that it’s for free.

I’ve tried so many times to find the words to describe that thing your eyes do to me in the morning when I roll over and see them, barely open and encrusted with that white stuff.

I’ve searched, there is no Freud analysis containing anything about the way your anger at me, digs at my core making me feel like the biggest failure in the world.

I can’t write you a love poem, I don’t know how to clear my mind of all the insanity of this ugly world and focus completely on just me and you, beautiful you then me.

I don’t think that I can aptly say thank you for sharing your strong shoulders with me in my sorrow.

Even if I could, with all of my friends lost in the turmoil of 09, wouldn’t it be a crime for me to run up “Jaro” shouting about my soul-mate search’s success.

How could I find the words sweet enough, phrases deep enough, and the meter mean enough to express this unique unfamiliar feeling when it seems that so much around us is crumbling.

Wouldn’t it be distasteful, right now to be like, damn bay, I love you, I need you, I love you, I promise to you…

I can’t write you a love poem, I don’t know how to not be disbelieving of your expression, and trust that your feelings are as genuine as mine.

My mind is still so saturated with the slime and waste from all of the one- fun lovers who have rode this ride, long before you were even in the line.

Those that didn’t love me, that just fell in love with my big feet, big hands, trick jaw, and big… ego.

I can’t even fathom why a sun with a shine as bright as you would have dug so deep into the bottom of the barrel to retrieve a moon as ill- reflective as me.

I wonder if you see my flaws and really love them all like you say you do, or if you are just part of the giant conspiracy set forth by past victims and the hater brigade—the secret agent sent to make me fall so deep, too deep, this  deep…

And so I sit fearing that you’ll succeed in your mission to leave me alone, suddenly alone self-destructing, depressed and alone, feening for your conversation.

So what do you want me to do, I just don’t think that I can do it.  What I can do, is give you me—angry, bi-polar, violent, paranoid, aggressive, passive –aggressive, conniving-- me.

I can give you my heart, beaten down, bruised up and bloody as it may be.

And I can promise you that no matter how much he says go that I’ll say no, I won’t let him stretch out in nobody else’s spot from here forward.

Bay Bay I’m sorry that I can’t do it, I’ve tired it, and I know that you deserve it; but I’ll make a deal with you- if you use your heart to steady my pen, and grab a tight hold to my soul with your presence, together we can ride the lines of this paper and etch out a novel, and maybe if were lucky, someone will read it, get inspired, and succeed where I failed.  I’m sorry.